Seamus Finnegan, the World is in Your Hands
by Wraithlike
Summary: Seamus Finnegan, the unwitting Dubliner is forced to fob his way through an encounter with Voldemort at the last battle in Hogwarts. Unfortunately, Seamus fails to recognise Voldemort. Hilarity and hysteria ensue.
1. The World is in Your Hands

**Notes to be dispensed below. Onwards!**

Seamus Finnegan, the World is in Your Hands

oOo

'YOU'RE F-- KIDDING ME!!' Professor McGonagall screamed as she blasted more Death-Eaters with her wand, her dark green robes splattered with dirt and blood, her greying hair escaping in untidy straggles from behind her ears. She whirled about in circles, ducking and firing around her. A tall sullen boy nodded beside her, examining the ground, the hood of his Nike hoodie pulled over his head, his grey track-suit bottoms just covering his dirty white runners. Despite the fray and the energetic witch before him, a good three times his age spinning and killing, the teenager stood awkward and still.

'SEAMUS!! A LITTLE HELP HERE!!' the frantic witch screeched as she gorged a Death-Eater in the eye with her wand.

The Irish boy looked up, dejected, shuffled forward a pace, hunching his shoulders, and looking over them sulkily.

'So, whadda we do now, miss? Should we just give up?'

'NO, YOU FOOLISH CHILD!! WE CAN'T JUST GIVE UP!! AND HARRY POTTER CANNOT BE DEAD! HE IS OUR LAST HOPE!'

Seamus sniffed, wiped his finger across his nose, and took his phone out of his pocket, checked the time, stuck it back in his pocket, and stepped over a body to follow the witch.

'He is, miss.'

'BRING ME TO HIM!' she cried, performing three unforgivable curses in quick succession, and whipping around to push the hesitant teen forwards.

'Jaysus, miss, this cost me seventy euros, and you're after getting shite all over it!' he cried indignantly, removing her hands, and brushing himself off wounded. McGonagall stared at him dumbfounded for a moment, wondering how on earth she had spent seven years teaching this boy and had never realised just how big an idiot he was.

_That's the English school system for you, _she thought, as she raced forwards, dragging the touchy teen with her, pausing, frenzied, at every corner, at which he'd silently point out which direction to take, before she would seize his wrist again, and pull him onwards.

Eventually, they reached the castle grounds, where the ground was littered with bodies.

'Hate tha' and a bag o'wedges,' Seamus said, pulling his hoodie closer and looking about disdainfully. McGonagall hardly heard him, as she searched frenetically through the bodies, her heart twisting as she recognised friends that she had known, students she had taught for years,_ children _among the dead.

'My God, no,' she whispered, as, a little way off, she saw the body she had been dreading. Harry James Potter, gone the same way as his mother, father, godfather . . .

Harry Potter. Dead.

She fell to her knees beside him, her hands running blindly over his pale face. She remembered him through the years, not as a celebrity or saviour, but as a mere child. His sorting. His first Quidditch match. His talent and failures. His friendship with the other students. Badgering her to let him go to Hogsmeade. His excitement at getting his Firebolt. His shock at competing in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. His face as he stumbled from the maze. When he had lost Sirius. When he had become Quidditch Captain. When he left school and when he was killing Death-Eaters. Harry Potter, student, child, last chance.

Dead. Sprawled on the ground before her. Just as she wanted to be left alone; to wallow in her grief and to give up hope completely, for Voldemort would never be vanquished now, an irritating prodding in her back began.

'Miss,' came Seamus's voice.

'Not now, Seamus,' she muttered distractedly.

'Miss. Miss,' he said again in this same monotone.

'Leave me alone, Seamus,' she said, angrier. He paused a moment.

'Miss,' he bleated, beginning again to poke.

'WHAT, SEAMUS?'

'Can I go home now, miss?'

Minerva McGonagall stared up in awe at the boy.

Certainly, he wasn't much to look at, but people like that usually turned out to have wonderful inner beauty, blah blah blah. Or at least moderate intelligence, or bravery, or something.

But with Seamus Finnegan, she just drew a blank. Nothing. Nada. He was just . . . an existence. He wore Nike runners, and Adidas hoodies, and Puma track-suit bottoms, and carried an expensive phone. He was naught but a 'skanger'. That was really it.

We're closed. Goodnight, Vienna.

And then, there was Harry Potter; loyal, determined, brave, and unfailing, dead and cold on the ground beside her. How the hell was Seamus Finnegan still alive when this paragon was dead? How was he allowed to be alive?

A thought suddenly struck her. Perhaps . . . it couldn't be a coincidence. She looked up into Seamus's face, hope shining anew in her eyes. Seamus drew back slightly in alarm.

'Seamus! That's it! YOU must be the saviour of the Wizarding World instead! Oh, it all makes sense! I _knew _that idiot Trelawny had gotten the dates wrong! That's it! That's _it_! Seamus. Seamus, listen closely,' she began, but Seamus shook his head.

'Ye wha'? Looper! I'm no savyar! Scarle' for ye!' he said, in growing apprehension.

'Jaysus!' he cried, as McGonagall gripped his arm vice-like.

'You'll do it, and succeed, so help me God. Take this,' she said, ripping the invisibility cloak from Harry's grasp (it was quite difficult actually. Even in death, Harry seemed to be quite possessive of that cloak) and shoved it into Seamus's reluctant hands, before wrenching the ring from his finger, and pushing that at him too, 'and go into the Forbidden Forest. Voldemort will be there. You will face him, and you must win. Go. Go, now,' she said, pushing Seamus down the path, as he made a series of strident incomprehensible noises to indicate reluctance.

'GO!' she screamed, as more Death-Eaters entered the scene, and descended on his old Transfiguration teacher, who began battling them away at once. Seamus paused on the edge of the forest.

'Miss?' he ventured again, louder.

'WHAT, SEAMUS?'

'Miss, can you drop me home after this? I haven't gor enough for a taxi, and me ma will be livi' with me if I'm late.'

McGonagall didn't answer. Seamus sighed, and faced the forest.

'Jaysus,' he muttered, as he hunched his shoulder, stuck his hands into his pockets and trailed through the forests.

'It's bleedin' freezin' in here,' he sighed.

'Jaysus,' he repeated, as if for effect. He held up the invisibility cloak in his hands for a moment, and then tossed it away into the forest.

'She wants me to wear _dat_? Wha', does she think the lads are blind? And why would I want to hide me jacke'? I look f massive in this!'

He next regarded the ring.

'Some killar bling dere,' he said, as he stuck it on his finger, the black stone catching the light. A white figure ghosted towards him.

'Jaysus!

The figure grew more distinct. It appeared to be . . . a fish?

'Rover!' Seamus cried.

'Whadda ye doin' here?'

The fish shook it's huge pearlescent tail, it's smoky scales shimmering in the moonlight. It was at least ten times as big as an ordinary fish.

'You killed me, Seamus Finnegan,' the fish intoned in a deep voice. Seamus's eyes darted, though his Nikes were rooted to the ground.

'N-no I didn't!'

'Yes, you did! You left me for three weeks when you went to Malaga with no food! I ate my mother, siblings and own fin to stay alive!'

'Jaysus.'

'It is true. But it was all to no avail, for I died no matter what!'

'Jaysus.'

'And what were you thinking, man, naming me Rover? Do you know how much stick I got from that, having a brother called Fin, a sister called Bubbles and a mother called Goldy?'

'Me ma wouldn't let me get a dog. She told me it would be animal crewelty.'

'Well, she was right, but of course, no one ever thinks of the gold-fish as having feelings!!'

'Look, it's yer own fault. I mean, I thought gold-fish ate the pebbles, anyway. But anyway, shurrup. What are ye doin' here?'

'You summoned me. You bear the Ring of Resurrection, and called me forth from the abyss of the dead. I come as a fore-bearer.'

'Who's comin' after you?'

'You grandparents. They were delayed in the Valley of Death.'

'Jaysus!' cried Seamus, alarmed, as he began attempting to wrench the ring from his finger.

'What are you doing?' called the ghost-fish in rising anxiety.

'Don't send me back there! My mother, siblings and I don't exactly see eye-to-eye after I did consume them, and all.'

'Are you bleedin' langered, mate? Me Granny and me Granda . . . well, I wasn't exactly the perfect grandson, was I? I mean, I've been liftin' shite from their house since I was a _little_ gurrier. And I never knew if they noticed or no' until me ma got the will when they were brown bread. They left me a letter. Tha' was all. And the letter wasn't exactly . . . eh . . . well, poli'. So, ye'll excuse me not sticking around for a rollickin', right?'

'Ah, but Seamus!' the fish cried, 'I'm supposed to provide emotional and moral support, keep you from straying from the path, give you comfort and whatnot in your final or darkest hour! Come on, you can't send me back!' he cried hysterically, floating forwards through the dark air, his fishy eye gleaming. Seamus took a step backwards.

'Eh, if you think that I'm gonna spend me last moments on this earth with a f-- half a fish, then . . . then go think again. I'm goin' to find me a bird. Good luck,' he added as a last endearment, before finally managing to free his finger from the ring, and dragging it off. He sighed in relief as the ghostly apparition of the fish before him disintegrated.

'Jaysus,' he muttered, as he began picking his way through the forest again, taking care not to mess up his runners, 'I'm never gettin' another pet. And I dunno wha' he was goin' on abou'. Me final hour? Wha'? I'm only seventeen, for f--'s sake. Looper. I'm going to find me a bird anyway, though.'

'Oh, you don't have to worry about that,' came a high, dark voice from over his shoulder. Seamus paused, rooted to the ground.

'In fact, you'll never have to worry about that again, Harry. Harry Potter.'

Seamus turned around.

'Wha'? Who're you callin' Harry Potter? I'm not Harry! Harry f kicked the bucket hours ago.'

Seamus adjusted his hood huffily.

'Jaysus. I don't look like that minger, do I?'

Seamus looked up to see who it was that had insulted him in this foulest of means.

It was a tall, pale humanoid creature, with red eyes and a slit nose. It was robed in black, with a great mahogany wand in it's hand, and a hungry expression on it's mutated face.

'Jaysus!' Seamus cried, disgusted, as he eyed the creature up and down.

'The state of ye!'

The face darkened with anger, and suddenly, Seamus noticed that a crowd of people all robed in black had stepped out from the trees, their own wands raised. He looked back to the creature.

'Do you not know who you mock, Harry Potter? I am Lord Voldemort!' he cried, raising his hands.

'No shit. But I'm not Harry Potter.'

'Yes, you are! You must be! Who else would walk this forest, most forbidden of them all so fearlessly?'

'I dunno. Oh, wait, me!' Seamus said, light dawning.

The other wizard seemed to be attempting to make sense of this.

'If you are not Harry Potter, then what are you doing here? Where is Harry Potter?' he bellowed. Things were obviously not going the way he had planned.

Seamus shrugged his shoulders.

'Why do you not quail at the very sight of me, mortal? How does your breath not catch in your throat with fear? How do you still breathe the night air? How do you not fall to your knees before me, and–'

'Like the sound of yer own voice, don't ye?' Seamus muttered, whipping out his mobile again.

'Jaysus. Midnight. Gets f-- freaky in these woods at night.'

The wizard stared at him dumbfounded.

'Don't . . . don't you even know _who_ I _am_?'

Seamus looked up briefly.

'No. Should I?'

The wizard blinked his serpentine eyes and looked puzzled.

'Well . . . yes. I mean, he should . . . right?' he said, bemused, looking about to the circle of wizards about the clearing, and was assured with a chorus of, 'yes, my lord!', 'of course, my lord!', 'most definitely, my lord!'

This seemed to give this wizard a new lease of confidence.

'Yes. Well. There you go,' he said.

Seamus looked unconvinced.

'My lord, the whole wizarding world has been in uproar about you since . . . since you began your deeds! That was fifty years ago! Your name was everywhere . . . the people were terrified, your name was feared by all . . . children learned of you from the frightened tales on their mothers lips, grew up to fear the name, your name : Lord Voldemort, greatest wizard of them all!' a small man said feverishly, gesturing wildly with his hands.

Lord Voldemort turned triumphantly back to the boy, and stopped short, words dying on his tongue.

The boy was smiling, chatting into a device pressed to his ear.

'Yeah, sure I'll be there! What time're we meetin' up? Nine. Yeah, no, that's fine. On Doyle's corner, right? Yeah, sure, babe, I'll be there. Alright, love. Yeah, I will. Okay. No, you hang up. No, you! Jaysus, Marie, you hang up! Okay, okay, on the count of three. Okay, one – two – three!'

He stood still for a moment, before bursting into laughter.

'No, I didn't either! Ah, Marie! I mean–' Seamus turned as he spoke, and saw Voldemort's incensed face. He breathed a huge sigh.

'Look, Marie, I got to go. Urgent business. Yeah, alright love. See ya then. Bye.'

He pulled the device away, pressed a button, and slid it into his pocket. Before Voldemort could begin ranting, he began.

'Jaysus! Can't a fella get a little privacy around here? Anyway, fantastic as this little party has been, I have another one to get home in time for, _if _you don't mind.'

'You're not going anywhere,' said Voldemort, as if suddenly remembering that he was supposed to be some sort of evil over-lord.

Seamus paused.

'Wha'? Look, I told you I'm not Harry bleedin' Potter! I dunno who you think you are, mate, but I've gotta go,' he said, making a move to run, but Voldemort grasped his shoulders.

'Look, you HAVE to know me! For Merlin's sake, the whole wizarding community has been turned upside down by me! You're in danger! I probably killed someone in your family!! I'm a menace!! I've been tormenting the whole wizarding world since I found out how! I want to take over the world! It's because of me this battle is taking place! YOU HAVE TO KNOW ME!!' he cried in desperation. Seamus clutched his head, in an attempt to think harder.

'Nope.'

'FOR MERLIN'S SAKE, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL THESE YEARS? You go to Hogwarts, right? You're in the same year, the same house, share a dormitory! Don't you know Harry Potter? He is the one – the _only _one – to ever survive a killing curse. I've been trying to kill him since he entered Hogwarts! COME ON! You have to know this! The Philosopher's stone! That was my first attempt. The Heir of Slytherin! I almost killed Ginerva Weasley, a mud-blood. Me! _I'm _the heir of Slytherin! ME!' Voldemort pounded his chest. Seamus blinked.

'YOU SLEPT IN THE SAME ROOM AS HIM FOR SIX YEARS!! HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW HIM?'

'Oh, I knew him, alrigh. I knew _of _him at least. I just never really paid any attention to him, in classes. Or on the pitch. Or . . . anywhere, really.'

'THEN WHAT DID YOU DO ALL THE YEARS YOU WERE IN HOGWARTS?'

Seamus began mentally skimming through his years in Hogwarts. He drew a blank with most of his classes. He sat in the back, doodled pictures of himself as various super-heroes, and played one-sided games of X's and O's. Dean would occasionally join in, to be beaten very badly. In fact, the only thing that Seamus could remember in any sort of clear way was the girls. Kissing Parvati in the Divination Room, Lavender Brown on the Quidditch stands when no-one was watching them, Ginny Weasley in the Room of Requirement, Cho Chang in the Astronomy Tower, Katie Bell in the changing rooms of the Quidditch Pitch (Seamus was never sure how he had gotten in there without being discovered), Hannah Abbott in the Hufflepuffs form room, Pansy Parkinson in fifth year behind a curtain of sorts (he never really afterwards knew what he had been thinking) and eventually even making out with Hermione in the library in sixth year. That had been a scary day. There were more than that, he knew, but those were the first ones that popped into his head.

'I got some mots,' he said dreamily. Voldemort stared at him.

'Me mot',' he repeated.

'You . . . got the girls?' Seamus nodded again.

Voldemort looked at him curiously.

'But, Harry Potter . . .'

'Jaysus, man, Harry's dead. Toast. Dead meat. Swimming with the fishes. Ye're obsessed,' he said, missing the look on Voldemort's face as he started counting change.

'Are you sure?' he said, looking puzzled. Seamus looked up.

'Yeah! Told ye.'

A Death-Eater moved forward.

'M-my Lord?' he ventured. 'My Lord, should I duel the boy? He could be lying.'

'Ye- actually, no. _I _will duel the boy,' he said, grandly, regaining a semblance of composure, and reaching for his wand. Seamus watched him with interest. Voldemort paused, wrong-footed.

'Well? Aren't you going to get your wand out?'

'Me wand? Are you fer real? I threw that away ages ago.'

'Why? Without it, you are powerless!' said the awe-struck Voldemort. Seamus shrugged.

'I dunno. It was crampin' me style.'

Voldemort looked at the boy before him. Nobody, in all the years Voldemort had slimed around the world, spreading bad-will and terror, _nobody _had ever confused or surprised him as much as this boy. Either he was extremely brave and proficient, extremely foolhardy and idiotic, or just . . . really, really cool.

'So . . . you don't intend on duelling me.'

'Eh, hello? No! I mean, you're like, the gaffer around here, right?'

Voldemort looked blank again. All those years spent in Hogwarts, learning and reading until his eyes bled – nothing. Completely useless. How typical.

'The . . . gaffer?'

'Yeah! You know . . . the _gaffer_,' Seamus repeated, emphasising the word, as if it would have some sort of new relevance then.

'The head-man, like.'

'Ah. Yes. The head. That's me,' said Voldemort, feeling more foolish by the moment, and turning, performing the killing curse on the closest Death-Eater quickly.

'Let that be a lesson to you!' he cried savagely, to the shaking and whimpering Death-Eaters. Seamus Finnegan didn't seem to have noticed.

'Yeah, well . . . obviously, you don't have a mot'.'

'A . . . mot?'

'A petticoat. A girl.'

'Ah! One of those. Eh, no.'

'Right, well, I'm sort of yer man when it comes to the ladies. Ye know, instead of blowin' up Hogwarts, I could, ye know, teach ye the way to get a lady, ye know, and help ye get one.'

'Why are you so eager to help me? And not blow up Hogwarts?' Voldemort said at once, suspiciously. Seamus waved it off.

'Well, ye know, I've got a few sentimental memories of the place, ye know. The girls were great in there. Ah, yeah. Some good memories. It'd be nice to hang onto them, like, ye know?' Voldemort felt himself nodding involuntarily.

'Besides, if I ever have a few nippers of me own, like, I c'n just pack 'em off to Hogwarts. No school fees, and it gets rid of 'em for ten months of the year.'

'Ah.'

'And besides, ye know, ye don't seem like a bad sort of guy, like,' Seamus went on, failing to notice the disbelieving look on Voldemort's face, 'so I don't mind givin' ye a dig-out. Ye're sound as a bell. But . . . you are loaded, right?'

Voldemort looked suspicious again.

'Loaded?'

'Yeah. Ye know, a lot of kaching, some good dough, bread, clams, quiddage . . .'

'Quidditch?'

'_Quiddage_. Oh, come on, ye know! _Cash_,' he added. Realisation dawned on Voldemort's face.

'Ah. You want money for your services.'

Seamus shrugged.

'Yeah. So. Whaddaya think? Ye up for i'?'

Voldemort considered for a moment.

'Well, I suppose I could always take over the world another time. I am immortal, and all,' he said, and laughed. A high, cold laugh, the last noise Harry Potter had heard before the blackness had risen to meet him, and his family and friends gone before him had reached out to greet him, their eyes shining with joy . . .

'Yes. You shall initiate me in the ways of this 'mot-gaining' and I shall have a queen by my side when I rule,' he said, decisively. The ring of Death-Eaters looked at each other nervously.

'Crucio!' Voldemort cried at a Death-Eater to his left, who immediately sank to the ground, writhing.

Seamus smiled.

'And . . . and ye will gimme some dosh, right?'

Voldemort looked questioning.

'Is this 'dosh' the same as the 'kaching' you talk about?'

Seamus nodded, happily.

'Ye're gettin' better at this,' he said, and Voldemort smiled. It seemed to be causing his some pain, so he stopped. He put an over-sized white hand on Seamus Finnegan's shoulder, and they began to walk through the Forbidden Forest. The Death-Eaters abandoned their positions, and formed ranks to march behind them.

'So . . . what is your name?'

'Seamus. Me ma calls me Seamy.'

'Seamy?'

'Yeah. It's a ma thing.'

'I never had a ma.'

'Oh. That's shite.'

'Yes. 'Shite',' Voldemort attempted, as they walked together.

'Oh, dat reminds me. Could ye gimme some cash for a taxi as well when we're done?'

'Why?'

'Well, I've gotta get home. It's me ma, ye see. She'll be up the walls.'

'Well, I shall provide a 'taxi' for you.'

'Cool!' Seamus beamed.

'So, how will you teach me to get a 'mot'?'

'Well, we have to do something about your clothes first, like. Ye can't wear what ye're wearing.'

'Why not?'

'Are ye fer real? They're crap! Ye look like a muck-savage in dat!'

Voldemort frowned down at his clothes.

'A . . . muck . . . savage?'

'I'm only buzzin' wit ya. But we'll get ye some cool threads. Nike, like, and maybe some Esprit. Fitch. _Are_ ye loaded?'

'Er . . . yes.'

'Well, grand. Ye, some Fitch. Maybe a toupee, as well. Ye sort of need one.'

'Do I?'

'Yeah.'

'Oh. Carry on.'

'Yeah. But anyway, where are we going?'

'My lair.'

'Is it near a shoppin' centre?'

'It is beneath one.'

'Grand. D'ya mind if I ring Marie?' Seamus asked, with a new respect for this man. He was a totally sound guy, really.

'Is she your 'mot'?'

Seamus nodded.

'Yeah. Marie's the name, my latest flame!' he began singing as he dialled.

'We'll need to get you interested in music too. Chick's love that.'

'They do?'

'Yep,' he said, as he raised the phone to his ear.

'Ye know wha'?' he said, suddenly, as the dialling tone sounded in his ear.

'We've a long way to go wit ya, but I think it'll be alright in the end. I think ye'll make it.'

'You do?' Voldemort looked and sounded hopeful.

Seamus nodded.

'Yeah.'

'That's . . . wonderful.' Voldemort beamed again, despite personal discomfort, as Seamus began apologising to his girl-friend.

'Jaysus,' Voldemort added in an undertone, as if to test how it sounded. Then he smiled even wider, and bounced on.

oOo

From the bushes, watched Professor McGonagall, her bun messier than it had been, her robes now stained vivid red, with smears of blood on her cheeks, but they were being cleaned by the streams of tears tracking down them.

'God bless you, Seamus Finnegan,' she whispered, all dislike for the boy washing away, as she saw him stride away, 'taking one for the team', as he walked to what must be his doom with the grinning Lord Voldemort, obviously say his last farewells to his family, but giving them enough time to protect the castle and think up a better plan. He had risen marvellously to the occasion, and already McGonagall could see him being awarded an Order of Merlin First Class for his services. He had succeeded where Harry Potter had failed. Harry Potter, the pseudo hero. Nothing but a poser. Anyone could see it had been shy little Seamus all along, working what must have been diligently in the background, always there playing the part of the surreptitious little hero. Minerva McGonagall's heart melted for the boy at that moment, and she knew she had made the right choice.

_Seamus Finnegan, I left the fate of our community, our country, our __**world **__in your hands, and even then, I expected you to fail. _

_God speed, Seamus. God speed._

And with that, she watched boy and villain stroll on together, until the last Death-Eater disappeared into the dark trees, and beyond, to the hell that is bachelor shopping, and the wrath of the scorned mot.

xXx

Dictionary of Dubliner Slang

As I believe Seamus Finngan to be a Dubliner and as one myself, I gave him all the slang and mannerisms as young males of his age have in Dublin. I hope this will be useful to you.

Let's start at the beginning.

Jaysus: The Dublin pronunciation of the blasphemous expletive.

Shite: The Dublin alternative to the swear-word.

Hate tha' and a bag o'wedges: In civilised speech, would translate as 'Hate that and a bag of wedges.' As it's meaning is still unclear, it actually means, 'I would dislike to be in your situation.'

Skanger: Thoroughly unpleasant person.

'Ye wha'? Looper! I'm no savyar! Scarle' for ye!': Again, translation: 'You what? Looper! I'm no saviour! Scarlet for you!'

Broken down:

Ye what?: You said what, now?

Looper: Insane person.

Scarlet for you!: I'm embarrassed for your sake.

Livi': Livid. As in angry. 'Me ma will be livid with me.'

Massive: As in, to look massive. Has nothing to do with proportions. Means 'cool' 'fantastic' or 'hot'.

'Some killar bling dere,': Translation: Some killer bling there. Broken down:

Killer: Fantastic, cool. Much the same as 'massive' in this context.

Bling: Jewellery, chain.

Crewelty: Mispronunciation of the word 'cruelty'

Shurrup: Translation: Shut up.

Are you bleedin' langered?: Are you intoxicated?

Liftin': As in, to steal.

Gurrier: Small and annoying skanger.

Poli': Polite.

Rollickin': Rollicking.

Bird: Used in Seamus context, is usually used to describe a girl.

Minger: Generally unpleasant looking person.

Mot: Translation: Moth. Still not making sense? Moth is archaic Dublin slang for your girl-friend, fiancé, or wife.

Crampin' me style: Translation: Cramping my style. Making me look foolish.

Mucksavage: Derogatory term for a person from outside of the Pale around Dublin. Commonly referred to as culchies.

'I'm only buzzin' wit ya!': Translation: I'm only buzzing with you. I am only joking with you.

**Notes: Ah, yes. 'Twas once a one-shot, now a two shot. Onwards, my good folk, onwards!**


	2. The Search for the Moths

**Notes to be dispensed below. Onwards!**

The Search for the Moths

oOo

Voldemort was feeling somewhat unnatural.

But that was good – feeling strange was good. It gave, what the movies Seamus had forced him to watch, called, 'an edge.'

Edges were good. Girls liked guys with edges.

The large white hands clenched at his sides felt slightly prickly with sweat. He cast a nervous glance at Seamus who was walking beside him, looking for all the world as if he had spent every day of his short life so far promenading the wet streets of Dublin city with an oversized lord of evilness.

Word.

Seamus gave Voldemort an appraising look.

'All righ'?' he asked suspiciously. Voldemort gave a pained sort of smile. Seamus nodded, and sighed, pulling him into a shop doorway.

'Jaysus man, ye've gotta stop _sweatin'. _It's mank,' he reprimanded the evil lord, as he nodded appreciatively to a platinum blonde woman of questionable employment. She giggled, and waggled a red nailed hand at him, before her gaze flicked to his companion. Voldemort's mind worked over-time in top-gear to come up with the sickly smirk which she didn't even see, having walked on at least a minute and a half before.

Seamus smacked a hand to his forehead.

'Jaysus,' he muttered, as he rearranged his companion's attire.

'Would ye stop _messin' _wit yerself?' he hissed, as Voldemort went to turn down his cuffs once again.

'I'm _sorry,_' he said, stiffly, which could not exactly hide the desperate undertones, 'but these garments . . . you are positive that these will aid our search for a queen?'

Seamus frowned at him, his mouth slightly open for a long moment.

'Yeah. Stop panickin'.'

Seamus immediately shifted his body into an attitude of causal loitering, leaning half of himself against the grimy chip-shop front, and turned his attention to a crowd of young women, the kind who are always found shopping in Dublin on a Saturday, with Daddy's credit card and Mammy's Jimmy Choo's.

He wolf-whistled. Voldemort marvelled at the ease with which the boy executed such gestures, and for a moment envied his complete lack of respect and decorum. The things that simply flowed to his lips! Voldemort could not fathom where such 'pick-up lines' as Seamus had explained later that they were came from. His obviously was a uniquely beautiful mind to be blessed in such a way. Secretly, Voldemort truly admired this boy. He reminded him of a younger self, skilled in two completely different ways, yet skilled none the less. He did not think of what _should _be said or done, he simply did it. The actions came naturally to him.

Voldemort fervently wished for some of his surety and charm.

The girls giggled, and passed by. Seamus shrugged himself from the wall, and turned to his older companion who flinched self-consciously.

'For f--'s sake, man, would ye calm yerself down? Look, ye're goin' to mess up yer wig if ye keep mooching like dat. That was f-- expensive! Relax!'

'I cannot,' Voldemort muttered, tugging on the ends of his long blond mullet-inspired wig. Seamus smacked his pale hands away, and adjusted the wig surreptitiously.

The virulently dyed ginger ends of the wig snagged on the handle of the door, and Seamus unwrapped them none too gently.

'Now,' said Seamus, facing his apprentice in the ways of the moth gaining sternly, 'Dere is a group of passable wags comin' around de corner. You're turn. You can do dis!' he punched Voldemort on the arm affectionately.

'You're ready.'

And Voldemort nodded. He was ready. It had taken many months of learning the etiquette and internet shopping on Seamus-approved web-sites for new 'threads' and hair-pieces, but now was the moment of truth, and he would not fail.

The sweat gathering on the palms of his hands grew wetter, as Voldemort licked his lips and begged his voice to be as seductive and care-free as Seamus's. He could do this.

He did.

'Hey there, erm . . . young females . . . would you care to . . . erm . . . kick it with me . . . at a large social gathering? Or to . . . erm . . . 'make it' with an evil lord? Or . . . would anyone care to be my queen and carry my heir and rule the wizarding world with me forever, unparted by the cruel irony of mortality?'

Voldemort hazarded a smile.

Both speech and gesture were met with horrified expression, wide-eyed and terrified by the small group of barely adult girls, who crowded together as if for protection from this foul mulleted creature. Seamus closed his eyes as if for a reprieve from the sight. Voldemort cast towards him wildly, before back to the girls, one of whom had begun to cry, but the group was still stationary, as if rooted to the spot by disgust and repulsion.

'I . . . that is, I mean . . . crucio!' Voldmort cried, reaching automatically for his wand to threatening brandish at the now-scorned girls . . . air.

Seamus gave him a pointed look.

'We left the wands behind. Remember? To detract from our . . . haffliction.' Seamus pronounced the word carefully.

'Freaky _and _diseased,' on of the girls muttered, raising her eye-brows, as they scurried away together, a solid pack of females.

'N-no!' Voldemort began, and turned desperately to Seamus, who had a carefully guarded expression.

'Righ' . . .' he muttered, and grasped Voldemort's arm to tow him away.

oOo

They were in the 'lair' later, as Voldemort liked to call it, or the 'gaff' as Seamus staunchly referred to it, and Seamus was well into his fifth Guinness, solely, he proclaimed, to ease his shame of his protégé.

' … I mean, Jaysus, they weren't even dat good lookin'. Some of dem looked shite, actually. I mean,' Seamus ripped the lid of the bottle closest to him, 'Jaysus.'

Voldemort was silent. He felt like an abomination.

'I'm s-s-s-s-s-s …' Somehow, the apology died on his lips. Probably because a beer bottle thwacked him across the head at that moment.

'Drink up,' Seamus advised, smacking his lips as he downed another bottle.

'We're going to need to be firin' on all cylinders toni' to bag a mot' fer ye.'

Voldemort did not question Seamus's infallible logic. Seamus was the master. The master must be obeyed. Voldemort knew this. Voldemort _understood _this. Voldemort had been a master once. Speaking of which, he should really alert his Deatheaters to his current location. And he was itching to curse someone again … the thought faded away. First, a queen. Then, his minions.

Voldemort opened the bottle.

oOo

Three hours, and seven cases of beer later, Seamus stumbled down the streets he had grown up on leaning on the shoulder of his equally inebriated friend, who just happened to be evilness personified. They were singing. Their song switched between the Top Gear theme-tune, and the Hogwarts song.

'Hogwarts, dun-dun …

Dun-dun dun dun-dun

Mmpleeeease …

La na … mmmmm …

Knees …'

This was all hilarious. Voldemort found himself giggling uncontrollably, as Seamus walked funnily. Suddenly, he was face-down and sobbing with laughter on the tarmac of the road, comfortable in the knowledge that he was the most attractive creature in all of the land. The 'local', as Seamus referred to it, loomed in sight. Voldemort giggled breathlessly.

oOo

The next thing he was aware of, was Seamus climbing, in hysterical laugher, onto the roof of the nearby house, armed with silly-strong, and a wand. Seamus grinned, and waved, staggering. Voldemort saluted, feeling merry.

oOo

The next thing he remembered after that was watching, feeling faintly confused, as Seamus was loaded into the back of a van, reading 'Gardai' and a house engulfed in green flames blazing merrily in the background. Seamus was hiccupping and giggling.

'Shrrzznnump, Vllaaaaa …' he said, which sounded perfectly clearly in Voldemort's own ears as 'You're beautiful, Voldemort!'

He was glad.

oOo

The next thing that he remembered after that was throwing open the door of the local, and strutting inside, feeling manly and beautiful.

'I am Voldemort. I am beautiful,' he announced to the room at large, who looked up disinterestedly from their drinks, and then returned to stare disconsolately into the dregs in their glasses. Voldemort swaggered about the bar, searching for an equally beautiful female. He found one. She was sitting with a puny male, whom Voldemort could squish between his fingers like a fish.

'I am Voldemort. I am beautiful,' he told her. She glanced up at him, and sighed.

'Unfortunately, I'm married to that one,' she said, gesturing at the puny male, who was building an intricate prism of beer mats.

'Shall I squish him?' Voldemort offered, flexing his fingers. She shook her head.

'No, thanks. No life insurance,' she sighed. Voldemort bowed, toppled over, stood up, knocked the puny male to the floor, and resumed his search for the queen.

He sashayed to the bar, and leaned against it for a moment, pondering over what uses such a thing may have that could aid him in his quest for an evil empire. A female turned to him from her stool. She was oddly shaped, not much like a female at all, but her face was painted with the kind of feminine paint preferred by her kind.

'I am Voldemort. I am beautiful,' he proclaimed. She batted her eyelashes at him.

'I can see that, sweetheart,' she told him. Her voice sounded very manly. He appraised her. She was dressed in female garments.

'Are you beautiful?' he asked her. She would know.

'Honey, I can be whatever you want me to be,' she told him, turning to face him. Voldemort noted the stubble on her face, and wondered a moment before deciding.

'You are not beautiful enough. I will crush you.'

'Not if I crush you first!' the non-female female cried.

oOo

The next thing Voldemort knew, he was picking himself off the cold stone tiles of the bar. When he struggled upright, a beautiful woman who standing behind the bar in front of him, pouring a drink.

'I am Voldemort. I am beautiful,' he told her, hoping he sounded sure of himself. She nodded.

'I know, hon. Drink this up.'

Voldemort needed no more encouragement. The beautiful woman smiled at him, and he choked.

'You are beautiful. There is no puny male with you. Neither are you a puny male. You poured me a drink. You shall be my queen.'

Suddenly it was all so clear. The woman stared at him for a moment, before speaking.

'I only become a fellow's queen when he gives me his wallet to examine,' she told Voldemort slowly. He feverishly pulled out his wallet and shoved it into her hands. He had found his moth, all on his own! Master would be proud.

He gazed at her face as she rifled through his well-stocked wallet. Vaguely, Voldemort saw her pulling out the wads of 'cash' as Seamus called it. Voldemort had no use for the thousands within. She handed him back his considerably flatter wallet, and he gazed as she smiled. Suddenly, a great feeling of well-being pervaded him. He tucked his wallet into his pocket, and bowed to her, regaining balance with difficulty.

'You will wait, my queen?' he asked her.

'I will,' she smiled, dazzlingly. Voldemort gazed about the bar again.

'I am Voldemort. I am beautiful,' he repeated, to make sure they were all aware. No-one looked up this time, but Voldemort didn't care. His queen smiled at him, as he left the bar, and regained the street, breathing deeply.

He had a queen, and all was well.

oOo

When Seamus Finnegan awoke the next morning, it was in a cold cell, with a blinding headache, and a great view of his knocked out student across from him, behind the same bars. Groaning, Seamus dragged himself to the bars, and called out hoarsely.

'Hey! Hey! Jaysus, how'ya luve!' he called to the girl on duty, who glared at him.

'What?'

'When did my mate gerrin' here?'

'About half four this morning.'

'Jaysus. He langered?'

'Off his tree.'

'Jaysus.'

'Think he was mugged too. His wallet was totally cleaned out.'

'Ah, shite. What was he sayin'?'

'I think he was high. Kept going on about some queen, and being beautiful … sure, you know yourself.'

'Jaysus.'

Seamus glanced at his student, and, where a feeling of loathing and shame should have bloomed, pride instead sprung up. Here they were, student and master, together, behind bars, girl-less, and about to heavily fined, but together. He might be an evil overlord, or something, and Seamus might only be a rakishly handsome Dubliner, but they worked together. Soon, yer man would have his queen, and Seamus would have his cash, and all would be well with the world in general.

And why waste time?

Seamus turned, a grin already on his hung-over face, and jerked his head approvingly at the girl on duty, who blushed.

'How'ya luve!' he called, and grinned through his head-ache.

It was a new dawn, a new day, a new life for him …

And he was feelin' good.

xXx

**Okay, lads. No language guide here. You lazy shites should have read the one in the last chapter! Te he. Well, I needed a break from writing my in-progress FF, so this took over my consciousness. Hope you like it. It's dedicated to LunarSpirit. Sorry dear, I know it's late, but hope you like it. I did warn you. Also, to C.D., that crazy stoner child. I laf yaoh. So, hope you like the Seamus-fest, fan-girls!**

**Wraithlike over and out. And I don't own Harry Potter. So there. sticks out tongue Or the song, 'Feelin' Good.' Or Guinness, as a matter of fact. Or Jimmy Choo. Or Top Gear. Or the local, really. Sad, in all honesty ...**

**If you likely, reviewy! Or something ... ;)**


End file.
